


Thanksgiving

by Bontaque



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:16:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bontaque/pseuds/Bontaque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Kinga using their OCs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanksgiving

 As the first few days of November tick by, Max's good mood diminishes. One evening he's sitting in front of the television, shovelling the last of his Halloween candy into his mouth while he grumpily flicks through channels. Sally knows exactly what is wrong. Each Christmas commercial makes his frown closer to a scowl. There are no more Halloween Specials. The spooky decorations are coming down. It's Max's least favourite month; he has to wait almost an entire year until Halloween comes back around.

Sally pulls her blanket tighter around herself. The winter chill is really setting in but she enjoys having an excuse to stay in an get cosy. She ignores the way that Max licks and sucks at the candy. She doesn't need to get fixated when he's obviously in no mood for fun.

If Sally could, she'd find a way to make Max love November just as much as he does October. She doesn't see why he has to get so grumpy anyway. There's Thanksgiving, which is really just a day to gorge on all manner of foods. Max loves to eat so logically, he should enjoy Thanksgiving but he doesn't really do holidays if they're not macabre and disturbing.

Once the idea is in her head, there's no stopping Sally. She hatches a plan to make sure Max learns to enjoy November. If she has a little fun herself, that's a bonus. The hardest part is keeping it all a secret. The freezer is already full, so she has to get creative.

Sally hides food everywhere she can think of. She buys the perishable things as close to Thanksgiving as she can. It works. Max doesn't suspect a thing. Sally doubts he even knows when Thanksgiving is.

When he leaves the house in the morning, Sally gets to work. She uses every pot and pan in the house, washing a few of them and reusing them. The mixture of scents fill the air, wafting through the kitchen. Every surface is covered with dishes: meat, dumplings, potatoes, stew, freshly baked bread and anything else Sally could think of.

She starts to set the table, knowing that Max will be home soon. She keeps the food warm in the oven and under covers while she waits. Eventually, she hears the door slam. She closes the door to the dining room before walking out into the hallway.

Sally doesn't ask where Max has been all day. She doesn't want to know. She never wants to know. Max's eyebrows knit together in confusion as he sniffs the air. There's a suspicious, dark stain on his shirt.

“I have a surprise for you,” she tells him. “But I want you to go get cleaned up first.”

Max shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest but Sally doesn't let him get a word in.

“No arguments,” she says, cutting him off. “Go wash up or you don't get anything.”

Max's eyes narrow in defiance but he keeps his mouth shut. Sally smiles as he slinks upstairs. She hears running water and knows she has to act fast. She moves dishes from the kitchen onto the table, piling it up until she can't see the wood any more.

Max doesn't take long. He walks into the dining room wearing a fresh shirt and a curious expression.

“What's this?” he asks, eyes raking over the table.

Sally asks Max to sit down. He does so, sliding into a chair and staring at the glazed ham in front of him. His eyes follow the steam rising off of it slowly and he licks his lips.

“You're always so miserable in November,” Sally explains.

“What is there to be happy about?” he asks. “Halloween is over.”

“There are other holidays.”

Max scowls. He's thinking of Christmas. All of the fake cheer and gaudy decorations really aren't his style but Sally shakes her head.

“Forget Christmas,” she says. “What about Thanksgiving?”

“What about it?” Max asks. “People just sit around being thankful. Where's the fun in that?”

Sally gestures at the table. Nobody actually enjoys that part of Thanksgiving, she's sure. The food, though. That's definitely a reason to be happy.

Understanding dawns on Max's face and Sally smiles. She reaches for the plate of bread rolls and holds it out in front of him. Max takes a couple and puts them on the edge of his plate before loading some ham next to them. He finishes by filling the rest of the plate with potatoes and starts to eat with feverish enthusiasm.

Sally likes Max like this. He's placid and quiet as he makes his way through the mountain of food in front of him. There's the occasionally noise of pleasure: a quiet hum or a happy sigh but he doesn't look up from his plate once. Sally helps herself to a small amount of food as she watches Max finish the last of the meat on his plate.

He licks his lips, eyeing up the stew in the middle of the table. Sally stands up, ladling some into a bowl for him. Max nods as she places it in front of him. He picks up one of the rolls, tearing it in two and dipping it into his bowl. The stew is heavy on the meat, just how Max likes it. He grins and makes a pleased noise as he swallows his first spoonful.

Max drains the bowl in no time. Sally refills it for him; she knows she should tell him to slow down but she's having too much fun watching him devouring everything she puts in front of him. When he gets through his second bowl, Max doesn't slow down his attack on the feast. He adds more meat to his plate: slices of ham, chicken legs, little sausages wrapped in bacon.

When he does eventually show signs of being full, it's sudden and all at once. Sally looks at him when he groans, sitting back in his chair. He tilts his head back and exhales slowly.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Uh... yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah. I'm just pretty full. This is a lot of food.”

Sally had purposely cooked too much. Leftovers are a part of Thanksgiving. That's the excuse she's going to stick with. She's seen Max eat more than this, though. His stomach only looks a little bloated beneath his tshirt, the fabric just starting to stretch. He still has room. Sally knows he's just hit a wall.

Sally feels a warm surge of guilt for wanting to push him further. Max slowly picks his fork back up, spearing a stray piece of ham.

“You want me to keep eating,” he says.

It isn't a question. He knows just how to read her. Sally nods and Max starts to make his way through the food left on his plate. When he clears it, he piles it high with dumplings and the last of the potatoes.

The heavy dishes are obviously taking their toll. Max makes a pained noise as he swallows a mouthful of food. His hand creeps down to his stomach, rubbing at the distended tightness under his shirt. He groans as he makes his way through the food on his plate.

He puts his fork down when he gets half way through, taking short shallow breaths. He reaches for the glass of water to his left and sips it slowly. Sally watches as he rubs slowly at his abdomen, trying to settle his stomach.

The chair beneath him creaks as Max falls back against it. His fingers slip underneath his shirt, pushing the fabric up as he rubs circles into his skin.

“I'll help,” Sally says, scooting her chair closer to his.

Max doesn't protest when she places both of her hands on him, rotating them in concentric circles. She looks down at the strip of skin that is showing beneath his shirt. The waistband of his jeans are tight, biting into his skin. Sally reaches down and struggles with the button before popping it free. Max's full stomach surges forward and forces his zip down. He sighs in relief, absently attempting to tug his shirt back down over him stomach with little success. After a few seconds, he reaches for a half eaten bread roll and takes a small bite.

Sally continues her ministrations, rubbing small circles into Max's flesh. His stomach his firm under her fingertips, almost solid towards the top. The bottom is softer, plush with Halloween weight. She lets her eyes travel downwards and has choke down a gasp when she sees the visible outline of an erection in his underwear. It's not the first time, not by far but seeing him aroused as a result of her cooking always makes Sally flush.

Max begins to eat with renewed enthusiasm. There's a faint red line around his waist and Sally reaches down to run her fingers over it as she she picks up the fork. She rubs Max's stomach slowly with practised expertise as she spears a dumpling and holds it up for him to eat. He devours it in one bite, swallowing quickly, ready to accept a slice of ham soon after.

It doesn't take long for Max to slow down again as the heavy food settles inside of him. His stomach feels firmer now, almost solid towards the top but still a little soft below his navel. Sally presses her palm firmly into it, massaging and squeezing at his skin. Max squirms, breathing heavily in between mouthfuls of potato. Sally continues to feed him steadily until Max shakes his head and moves away from the fork.

His stomach grumbles loudly, something that Sally both hears and feels through his taut skin. Max's shirt moves up as she withdraws her hand to reach for a glass of water. He absently pulls at it, trying to cover himself up. The stretch of the fabric shows off the swell of his belly and the shirt springs back when he lets go.

Max accepts the glass of water and sips it slowly. His face twitches, a slight wince, as he drinks almost all of the liquid. Sally can almost see everything expanding inside of him. She takes the empty glass and places her hand back on Max. His skin feels warm as she rubs his stomach slowly, listening to the pained groans he's making.

Max's belly is tight and firm, feeling heavy as she presses her fingers against the bottom. He looks sleepy and content. Her job is done.


End file.
